The Damsel and Her Knight
by Rahja
Summary: Their mothers were enemies. When she is born, he is doomed to die. But someone decides that fate should take another way, and that he should live to be her champion, he friend, her knight in shining armour. How will Princess Elizabeth's life change now that she'll never be alone?
1. Prologue

_Short Summary: Their mothers were enemies. When she is born, he is doomed to die. But someone decides that fate should take another way, and that he should live to be her champion, he friend, her knight in shining armour. How will Princess Elizabeth's life change now that she'll never be alone?_**  
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* * *

**Prologue: The Uncertain Visitor**

Charles Brandon was shivering by the fire, a goblet of dark red wine in his hands. His eyes were staring into the mesmerizing flames, but behind them was a void. He knew he was supposed to feel fear and sadness and anger and all of those other emotions, but he couldn't bring himself to it anymore. What was in it for him, what good had it ever done him? The last year had brought misery after misery.

First, his best friend and sovereign, King Henry VIII had married this Anne Boleyn, first secretly and then openly. Charles had been suspicious of the woman because of her previous relationship with that poet, Thomas Wyatt, and because he knew her father. Thomas Boleyn was an ambitious man with a heart of ice. The lady herself was different, but he knew that she would prove troublesome for him sooner or later. For now, she was a matter of indifference to him even though he knew there was reason to dislike her.

Heavens, Mary could have given him one thousand reasons to hate Anne Boleyn! She had never hid the fact that she considered her brother's sweetheart unfit to be queen, stating that her low birth and dubious reputation were mocking the very idea of queenship. Of course she had conveniently neglected the fact that her own husband had been born as humbly as Anne. Mary had always been gifted with seeing things only the way she liked them to be, and Charles had never fully understood her opinions and motives. Now, he could only be sure of two things: First, that Mary had despised her new sister-in-law fully and wholeheartedly. Second, that it didn't matter anymore. Mary was dead.

Last year's June had taken her away like a strong wind blows away falling leaves. Their marriage had been a troublesome one, filled with both love and hatred at the same time, but now that she was dead and gone, Charles couldn't believe it. Was that really Mary Tudor, Queen of France, buried at the abbey of Bury St Edmunds?

He wished she was with him still. He wished that she was alive, not to see her rival the Queen fail in giving the King the son he had hoped for, but to help him now, in his hour of need. Charles was a women's man, growing up first with his mother and then surrounded by all the governesses and ladies at court caring for young Prince Henry. They had both loved women from their earliest childhood on, and even thought Charles wouldn't even confess it to himself, they had both relied heavily on their ladies. With Catherine of Aragon, his best friend had once possessed a wife that was both clever and dutiful. Charles, on the other hand, had not been so lucky. His first marriage to widow Margaret Mortimer had been annulled after only one year, and the second one to Margaret's niece Anne Browne had not lasted much longer despite producing two daughters. He had then vowed to marry Elizabeth Grey, but that was before Mary.

Ah, Mary. He had defied his best friend to marry her, but had it been worth it? They had quarrelled from the earliest days of their marriage onward. He had betrayed her, slept with other women, many of them. It had not been the fairy tale they had once imagined. Still, he could not deny that Mary had been a fierce woman capable of giving him counsel. He may have hated her at times, but he had always relied on her.

Now she was gone and he was alone, watching as the life of his only son was slowly fading away. He had tried everything. He had sent for physicians, good physicians, to come and look at the boy, and when they had failed, he had even urged the King to send his royal physician. The wish had been granted, but to no good. Three hours ago, Dr Linacre had told him that there was little to no hope left, and even if the boy made it through the night, calling in a priest for the last rites was a necessary and advisable precaution. Henry Brandon's days were numbered.

* * *

By God, he hated Februarys. They were cold and grey and miserable and always made him feel older than he was. His bones were aching and his flesh felt weak. Not even a warm, cozy fire was able to scare off the ghosts of the past that came to haunt him during February nights, and there were many of them. Apart from failing health and being treated as a senile old buffer, this was one of the main disadvantages of being an old man: He had seen too much. He had known so many people, almost all of which were long dead and forgotten by now, and not all of them had lived as happily as he had wished they would. It was the bitterest lesson he had ever learned: That people didn't always get what they wanted and even rarer got what they deserved.

There was no denying it; he needed only to think of Arthur to know it was true. Ah, what a golden boy Arthur had been! Kind and curious and noble by nature, a true prince so unlike his grim father. How high the old man's hopes had been! He had dared to dream of a perfect rule, of a golden age for England. But then, slowly, everything had gone awry. Arthur had lost his health, his sanity, and even his beautiful wife. Everything had been gone in a second. His old mentor had not been able to do anything about it.

"Are you fretting over bygones again?" A raspy voice asked him.

"No," he hurried to say. "Not entirely. Not all the time. Perhaps now. Yes, perhaps. I was just thinking that I regretted Cardinal Wolsey's death."

"Yea, such a shame, he was a good-looking man." His friend giggled.

The old man sniffed at his words. "That is completely beside the point and you know it."

"Oh, let the little one talk," a third, female voice interrupted them. "I hope I am not too late for supper?"

"On the contrary, Madam, you are just on time, as always. Please, have a seat." He clicked his fingers twice, causing one of the chairs to hop backwards and wait for her to sit down. Then he clicked his fingers again. "I hope you fancy a good crispy roast?"

"Is it owl roast? Nah, I'm just kidding. I'll take anything your kitchen has to offer," she returned laughing.

He nodded and clapped his hand. A door swung open, allowing some dinner trays to soar into the dining room before smoothly landing on the table. The sound of wings hovered above it as his old friend flapped away from his chair and landed on his shoulder.

"Did you hear that? Owl roast, she says." His voice sounded choked. He fluffed up his feathers nervously.

"I am sure she didn't mean it, Archimedes. We're friends," the old man tried to soothe the bird.

"She's still an evil old hag," Archimedes hissed.

Driving her fork into the roast, the 'evil old hag' smiled and asked: "So, how are things going in the capital? Judging by your weary face and the fact that the King still does not have a son, I would say they are going not so well, but you may always correct me if I'm wrong."

"I am afraid you are right, Madam. Things didn't go as expected when the King's child with Queen Anne turned out to be a girl."

"I suppose you've fallen from grace then, considering the fact that you were amongst those who prophesied the King the birth of a son," she said smacking her lips.

His face turned red. "I never said anything of the sort! My prophecies are completely accurate; but the people only hear what they wish to hear!"

She smiled. "So, just to satisfy my curiosity: What exactly _did _you tell them?"

"The truth," he said and seemed to be piqued. "I told them the Queen was carrying an enormously talented babe that would change England's future for the better. I told the King that it was the heir he deserved, in fact, that it was the best heir anyone could ask for."

"And now it's a girl!" She laughed maniacally. "Oh, what pristine humour that is! Tell me, how did the King take it that his perfect heir has no willie?"

"Mim, I beg you not to speak like this, this is a very serious situation!" He said gravely. "Yes, he was disappointed about the Princess's sex, so was I, but I did not lie! What does he expect of me, that I can see unborn children's sex? No, we're centuries away from that. I told him what I saw and what I saw was true."

"But how can she ever be Queen?" Archimedes rasped. "England has never had a Queen Regent."

"The poultry is right, Merlin," Madam Mim agreed grinning. "What does your gift of prophecy tell you about that, huh? If she is to reign in her own right, it means that either she will never have a brother or that he must die young."

Archimedes nodded, patiently ignoring her side blow. "And if the Queen doesn't have a son in time… God help her."

"I know, I know!"

The old man sighed and buried his face in his palms. As if he didn't know what could happen to the Queen and to England. Who better to know than him? He had watched centuries of English kings, watched their schemes and intrigues and moral failures. There had been some promising ones, young and virtuous and shining, but they had all fallen, eventually. The old man, known these days as Master John Neill, but still called Merlin by his eldest friends, was cursed. Whenever he picked a young prince hoping that he could bring about the golden age, doom was hard on their heels.

Henry I had been so very promising, a scholar and king at the same time, but what had happened? His only son had died in a shipwreck and his following attempt to name his daughter Matilda his heir had led to civil war. Merlin had stood by watching sadly as the English once again mauled each other for no good reason.

Henry II, Matilda's son, had been a fine warrior with a sharp mind, causing Merlin to try again with him. How miserably he had failed! First the disastrous falling out of the King with his one-time best friend, archbishop Thomas Beckett, then the drama surrounding his sons ultimately leading to the crown being placed on the head of one of the worst creatures ever to grace the earth: John Lackland.

But he had tried again, centuries later, when young Henry V had entered the stage. The King had not been a learned man like his ancestor Henry I, but Merlin had sensed that he was destined for greatness. How joyful things had been when his prophecies had come true in October 1415! Oh Agincourt, the greatest victory ever to be won by an English king! But the joy had not lasted for long. England's new hero king had died aged only 36, leaving the throne to an infant son and thus setting the founding stone to the wars of the roses.

Merlin's hopes had been high again for the eighth Henry, a humanist young prince educated by the brightest minds in the kingdom. The boy had even declared his wish to have a Round Table just like Arthur! But Merlin had known better than to interfere this time, and as things were turning out now, his reluctance had been wise. King Henry VIII was showing more despotic and maniac traits by the day. In a way, it forced Merlin to smile. This promising king was about to ruin himself without the old man's doing. But with his infant daughter, things were different. Merlin simply _knew _how grand her future would be. He couldn't stand by idly, not this time.

"What are you going to do about it?" Mim interrupted his thoughts.

"What can I do about?" He returned the question. "Must I do something about it? I may have misinterpreted the sex, but I know for sure that the young Princess Elizabeth is destined for greatness. She will be Queen one day and I can only hope that she, unlike her ancestors, uses this chance to bring about a golden age."

Mim downed her cup. "What is it with you and this golden age, anyway? So the girl will be queen, yes, perhaps even a good queen, if you say so. But she can only be queen on the cost of her brother's life, or her mother's. Until she ascends to the throne, she will be in constant danger, and I wager that she'll be lonely for all her life. A toast to that?"

Merlin wanted to respond to it, to cut her down to size, but sadly her words made sense to him. He had seen Elizabeth as queen, but he had not seen how she would feel about it. If Mim's words came true, then Merlin would have to pay a high price for his golden age. What good was there in a perfect kingdom when it came at the cost of its queen's happiness? He had sacrificed so much without ever succeeding. Could he sacrifice the heart of a girl on the altar of his ambitions?

"That's not a promising prospect, the old hag is right," Archimedes blurted out.

"I know, old friend, I know," Merlin sighed. "And if I could do anything about it, I would try to alter the Princess's fate. But we must face the truth: Whenever I try to interfere with history, things only get worse."

"Such wise words from you, old man? I must confess I had never expected to hear you accept your own failures," Mim said astonished. "Or is it just your way of moaning? You think you can neglect your duty towards this realm by sitting in a corner and crying over your wrongs?"

"No, but I can't, I mean, if I did, it would be clearly, no, really, if I interfered, everything would go wrong," Merlin began to stutter.

"That's no excuse." Mim put down her fork and cleaned her mouth using the tablecloth. "If you can't interfere personally, then you must find other means. You must find someone who can make sure that the Princess is never abandoned and never alone, no matter what the future holds. You must find someone who is willing and able to be her champion."

Merlin scratched his head. "It sounds logical. But who? Those who support the Queen and her daughter would no longer be able to do anything if the Queen should fall, and those who would survive her fall are unlikely to support her daughter. They would side with the Lady Mary instead, given that her mother had many friends."

"Maybe someone who doesn't remember Catherine of Aragon as queen?" Archimedes suggested.

"And who should that be, stupid owl? An amnesiac?" Merlin hissed back at him.

The owl fluffed his feathers angrily and pushed his head forward. "No, someone who's too young to remember her now, but who might be old enough when Elizabeth needs a champion- stupid wizard!"

"Delicious," Mim remarked laughing. "But the poultry has a point. Such a person could perhaps do what we need and protect your precious princess from any harm."

"I don't think there's anyone who is both young and powerful," Merlin sniffed.

"On the contrary, my dear old friend, I know just the man," Mim replied smiling. "He's perfectly suited for our task with perhaps one little difficulty."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "And the difficulty being…"

"He's currently dying."

Agitated, Merlin rose from his chair and tore his hair. "What are you saying, Mim? How can he be perfect for us if he's almost dead?"

"Well, because the term 'almost' means there is something that can still be altered. Not by a doctor of course; these modern quacks wouldn't recognise an illness if it jumped out of their patient and leapt in their face," she said, causing herself to laugh maniacally. "But he's not too sick for a habile witch to cure him, if you know what I mean."

"And you would do that?" Merlin asked unbelieving. They may have been on peaceful terms for centuries now, but being friendly and helpful didn't exactly sound like her.

"Yes."

"And you can guarantee that he is the person we need?"

"Yes."

Merlin scratched his head. "Why would you do it?"

"Of course I would not do it for free," Mim admitted smiling. "There is a favour I would ask in return, but before you question me: I cannot put it into words today, yet I will come back to it in the future."

"A favour? From me?"

"Indirectly."

"What does that mean, indirectly? Listen, Madam, I am willing to do many things to prevent the Princess's sadness, but if this is one of your mad games, I will simply…"

Mim laughed and waved his words aside. "This is no game, old man, nor is it madness. I am not asking anything unreasonable, just a fair price for the effort I will put in saving your precious princess. You could hardly call this madness, could you?"

"What's the price?" Archimedes crowed.

"Silence, poultry, grown-ups are speaking," Mim hissed at him. "So, Merlin, do you want my help or not?"

He hesitated. Knowing her as well as he did, he feared the favour she would ask in time. She had her very own agenda that he had never fully seen through no matter how hard he had tried (and he had tried for centuries!), making it very likely that the price she sought was either illegal or dangerous or bluntly mean. But what choice did he have? If he interfered himself, all would go down again as it always did, yet if he did not interfere, he would sacrifice a person's happiness for his own goals. Neither option seemed acceptable.

"Fine," he said sighing and offered her his hand. "We'll do it your way."

"I'm glad that you should see reason, old man," Mim returned. She took his hand, shook it firmly, and then rose from her chair. "Thanks for the roast; it was delicious, as was your company. Always delighted to be making business with you, Merlin- you're one of the last people to really appreciate a witch's work."

"How will I know you've done what you've promised?" Merlin asked.

"Oh Merlin, do you still distrust me after all these centuries?" Mim asked laughing. "I'll send word when the deed is done. Perhaps we can meet again when things begin to accelerate. I'd sure like another roast one day." She grabbed her broomstick smiling. "Good night, old wizard," she said, and after a second she nodded towards Archimedes as well. "Poultry."

"Hag," the owl returned.

Mim took a seat on her broom, causing it to hover above the floor. She slowly ascended to a certain point before rushing out the window in a flash of laughter.

"Do you think we can trust her?" Archimedes asked fearfully.

"I don't think it is wise to ever trust a woman, old friend, especially not if she's a witch. But sometimes, I guess, there's no way around it."

* * *

A knock on the door startled Charles. He flinched, almost dropping the goblet in his hand. Who could this be, at this hour of the night? Surely his ears had been tricking him. He put his hands up against the fire to warm himself and pushed aside any other thoughts.

Knock. Knock.

He looked to the door. So it hadn't been a trick of his mind; there really was someone outside trying to be allowed in. But who?

"Gregory?" He called for his groom, but there was no response.

Knock. Knock.

Angrily the Duke rose from his chair, put aside the goblet and left the room. What did he pay his servants for if no one answered either the door or his calls? Surely he had better things to care for right now!

Knock. Knock.

Charles rushed down the stairs and towards the entrance portal. He pulled it open only to have a blow of freezing cold air pushing into his face. He gasped. There were some people he would have expected to be standing outside the door, a messenger from the King perhaps, but not this. The creature in front of him was an elderly woman, poorly dressed, her nose half-frozen, carrying a basket in her arm.

"Who are you?" He asked surprised. "What do you want?"

"Sorry to disturb Your Grace at this time of the night. I come to help," the crone replied.

Charles frowned. "Well, whatever your services may be, there are certainly not required here. Off with you!"

He tried to close the door, but the meddlesome hag pushed it back and urged him with her voice saying: "But I come for the young Lord, Your Grace. I can offer him healing!"

For a second, the prospect seemed tempting. Was there salvation? But then Charles remembered what his deceased wife would have said about it- quacks were not to be trusted. "The best doctors in this land have examined him and found no cure. There's nothing left to do," he told her.

"For _them_. But I can help him, Your Grace. You must know I am a wise woman who sees and senses things. Fortune has led me to your door to heal your son."

His hand firmly attached to the doorknob, Charles hesitated. Mary's voice was still in the back of his head, but so were the old woman's words. Could she be true? Could she help Henry to survive? Was this some sort of witchcraft or sorcery or trade with the devil? Charles sighed. If he was frank to himself, he didn't care anymore. So much had gone awry for him this last year. If there was any chance of saving his boy, he would not let it go. Mary would have sent the crone away, but Mary was no longer here to guide him.

Charles opened the door to let the woman in. She nodded gratefully and pushed herself into the warmth of his house. He led her to his son's chamber without further words, but refused to enter. The sight of his feverishly shivering boy was too disturbing. If Henry had to go, he didn't want to keep this picture of him as his last memory. The crone entered alone. When the door closed, Charles wondered if had been wise to let her go on her own. What if she had malicious intents? But no, even if she was here to kill his son, what real harm would be done? He was soon to die anyway. There was nothing left to lose.

After only a few moments, the door was opened again, allowing the crone to push out her head. She grinned toothlessly. "As I thought, Your Grace, I can save him, if you wish."

"Of course I wish it!" Charles exclaimed angrily. Slowly calming down again, another thought crossed his mind. "What is your price, old lady? What do you ask in return?"

She laughed and mumbled something under her breath that he didn't fully grasp. To him, it sounded like "_Why does everyone keep asking me that?"_, but he couldn't know for sure.

"No worldly possession, if that is what Your Grace means. I am a messenger of fortune, of the fates, and I would only ask one thing in return," she said in a mysterious voice. "One day, not very far from now, a child will lose its mother just as you are about to lose your son now. I can prevent him from dying, but I cannot prevent this child's loss. If you wish me to save your son, you must promise to take in that motherless child when the time comes and see to it that it never lacks anything- neither food nor education nor love."

It took him a moment to process her words. "That is it?" He asked frowning. "You wish me to take in an orphan?"

"I don't wish anything. It's the fates that ask this payment from you."

"Alright then, but how am I supposed to know which orphan you mean?"

The hag winked at him. "You will know when the time comes, Your Grace. But you must promise now, and you must stick to that promise or else your son's life will be forfeited."

This time, Charles didn't hesitate. "I do so promise. What harm is there in it? An orphaned child gets a home and my son gets to live."

"So be it, then," the old woman said. "You can go to rest now. I will take good care of your son, I swear, and by the morning he will be on his way to recovery. You will not have cause to regret this."

He watched the door closing behind the strange crone again, wondering once more if it had been a wise decision. What would be happening in there? He didn't believe in the supernatural, knowing that quacks only liked to sound mysterious but were in truth no different from any other man. But what if that woman was a witch? What if she was what she said she was- an emissary of fate? Was she an angel perhaps? Charles shook his head, thereby shaking of the thoughts. There was no answer to his questions, at least not tonight. He would do as she had said and decide everything else in the morning.

* * *

_To His Royal Majesty, Henry VIII, King of England, Ireland and France_

_By his most loyal subject, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk._

_Your Majesty, it is with the greatest pleasure that I am writing these lines in order to inform you that your nephew Henry has been spared by our almighty God. As you are well aware, the boy has been sick with fever for weeks now, and even Your Majesty's physician had despaired of any hope. This morning, however, the servants have awakened me to come and see the child, and behold: His cheeks were rosy once more and his mind clear as the blue sky. He is still weak and drowsy, but the doctors say that the peak of sickness lies behind him. They have no explanation for his survival, but I do: It is a miracle, nothing short of a miracle. _

_Written in the hope that these news bring joy and comfort to a worried uncle,_

Charles stopped before signing the letter. He meant every word, but what he had written wasn't the entire truth. There was some small piece of the story that he had left out. Was it acceptable to hide it from the King? But if he chose to include it, what exactly could he write?

After his initial joy and relief at seeing his recovering son, Charles had soon remembered the mysterious visitor. He had asked his servants when the crone had left, but none of them knew anything about her. They had not seen her with Henry, they had not seen her leaving, and heavens, they claimed not to have heard any knocks during the previous night! It was as if she had never existed. Charles was questioning his sanity. Had it been a dream? It could not have been _just _a dream; there had to be more about it. He couldn't have foreseen his son's recovery, not after all those bad news from the physicians. What if she had been an angel indeed, sent by God to save his son? Then the promise he had given her was indeed a promise to God and he had better remember it when the time came.

Charles couldn't know for sure which of the possibilities was true, but he knew one thing: there was a chance that his promise to the crone had been more than a dream, no matter who she was or who had sent her. If that was the case, he had to keep his promise or otherwise he would lose his son again. And there could be worse, couldn't it? All God had asked of him was to care for a poor orphaned child in the near future. It was a noble task and a small price for the life of his precious boy. No one else need ever know.

Charles signed the letter and gave it to his servants.

* * *

"There's a letter for you."

"I cannot hear you."

Archimedes snuffled angrily and dropped the letter onto the table. "I said: There's a letter for you!" He waited for an answer, but there was only silence, followed by a loud noise.

BANG!

Smoke was leaking from underneath the kitchen door. When it was pushed open, a slightly deranged Merlin emerged from it. His beard was singed, his face was covered in coomb, and he was coughing heavily.

"Must you always do that in the kitchen?" Archimedes asked rolling his eyes.

Merlin patted off the dirt from his clothes. "Where do you want me to do it instead, the living room?" He didn't even wait for an answer but instead turned to the letter. "Ah, a letter. Who is it from?"

Archimedes coughed, too. "There's no sender on it, but I could make an educated guess…"

"And I would suppose you're right, old friend. Let's see what the lady has to say."

Merlin carefully opened the letter only to realise that it was just a small piece of parchment. He had expected a lengthy letter, but instead he found only two words written in spidery handwriting.

_Mission Accomplished._

* * *

**AN: Hope you've enjoyed the prologue of this little story. As you may have guessed, it's based on history rather than on the show, so Brandon's wife was actually Mary Tudor, the King's younger sister. In history, their only son Henry died in March 1****st****, 1534, but here, things go a different way. Hope you stay tuned for it! And don't worry, there'll be an update to my other story soon, I just wanted to get this off my table as it popped up inside my mind. Please feel free to review!**

**Just a short note for those who are confused: Merlin, Archimedes and Madam Mim are all characters from **_**The Sword in the Stone**_**, a Disney classic. Merlin, however, is of course a figure of old English legends, but I based my depiction of him mainly on the Disney movie. But if any of you understand the Wolsey joke in the beginning, they'll get a cookie! **


	2. The Queen & Her Deathsman

**The Queen & her Deathsman**

Charles Brandon had been in this world for more than fifty years now, but strangely enough he still found things that surprised him. He had been surprised that the King had forgiven him for marrying Mary; he had been surprised by the miraculous survival of his son two years ago; he had been surprised by the sad demise of Catherine of Aragon a few months before. The fall of Anne Boleyn, however, was a different case. In a way, he had anticipated it from the very day that her daughter had been born. He had seen the disappointment in his best friend's face, knowing that he would not forgive those who failed him. Now that the Queen had lost her unborn son, her downfall seemed almost inevitable. On the other hand, Charles would have never thought it possible that she could fall at all. Her grip over Henry had seemed so strong, so impeccable. Was it really over?

He couldn't say that he didn't rejoice over her final downfall. In a way, it seemed just. She had not treated others properly, especially her stepdaughter, the Lady Mary. Unlike most, Charles was well aware that the girl's bad treatment was not altogether Anne's responsibility, yet still he was convinced that any other lady would have treated Mary with more respect. Even if the girl was illegitimate, there was no reason to make her a maid to her half-sister or to ban her from her mother's grave. It was plain cruelty; and even thought Charles knew too well that the King was capable of it, he was certain that Anne had had a hand in it. She had never treated him with respect either, not since he had mentioned her previous relationship with that poet to the King.

"She treats me worse than I treat my dogs," he had once told his new wife Catherine. She was a young girl, pretty and rich, who had once been engaged to his son, but due to his fragile health and her considerable wealth, Charles had decided to marry her himself. He couldn't remain a widower forever, could he?

"But then your dogs bite back," Catherine had answered.

He remembered these words clearly as he strode up to the Queen's apartments. Today was the day he would be biting back.

The bells outside were ringing like a sign of impending doom as he entered her chambers; Sir Richard Rich and four strong guards were following him to ensure that his claim was enforced and that no doubts about his sincerities could arise. He found her sitting in her parlour before a dark, empty fireplace surrounded by five of her maids. Her dress was made from black damask, perfectly adjusting to the darkness of her raven hair and making her seem like a gloomy figure altogether. The only sparkle left around her was the silver tiara she wore. She was stitching, a picture of quietude that he had never seen before in her.

Charles bowed.

"My Lords, why have you come?" The Queen asked in a regal voice.

For a second or so, Charles was forced to admire her strength. Surely a woman of her brilliance must by now know that her fate was sealed, yet still she managed to keep her composure and ask them politely. He pulled himself together and unfolded a paper roll.

"This is the warrant for your arrest. You are charged with committing adultery with Mark Smeaton, Sir Henry Norris, Sir Francis Weston, and William Brereton. Smeaton has already confessed his guilt," he said loud for everyone to hear.

The Queen's chest was rising up and down quickly, but aside from that, she made no gesture, said no word, didn't even move her face.

"We are come at the King's command to conduct you to the Tower, there to abide during His Majesty's pleasure," Sir Richard Rich added.

It took her a moment to answer. "If it be His Majesty's pleasure, then I am ready to obey," she said sternly and rose from her chair.

For all his hatred of her, Charles was even more impressed now. He had expected her to make a fuss, to scream and yell and run away from them, or in short, behave the way she always had during the years of her marriage to the King. Instead, she remained calm and dignified. Not even Catherine of Aragon had given into her fate like this, dutifully and without speaking a bad word.

"Lady Sheldon…"

He felt sorry to interrupt her, but it had to be. "There is no time to change your clothes or pack any of your things. Money will be provided for your needs at the Tower," he said calmly.

The exchanged forceful glances. He expected her to break now, to cry, or at least to say anything. Was there surprise in her face? Confusion? Sadness? He couldn't tell. As usual, the woman was a complete riddle to him. Charles felt forced to lower his gaze. She didn't do him the favour of yelling. She didn't say a word when they led her out of her chambers and into a carriage.

Looking at Anne entering the Tower, her royal gown hid beneath a beautifully flowing blue cloak, Charles at last understood what his friend might have seen in her. Personally, he had never thought Anne to be particularly beautiful or attractive, though he could not deny her ability to charm others. But now that she was entering the prison in which her life would be ended, she suddenly revealed a compelling grace that he had never seen before. The moment she stepped towards Master Kingston, Anne Boleyn truly was every inch a Queen.

She turned around to them, her hood slowly sliding off her head, and finally displayed an emotion. It was sadness. The doors of the Tower were shut between Charles and her, but he could hear her voice soaring above them like a bird.

"My Lords, I beg you, before you go, to beseech the King's grace to be good to me!"

That was all. He had expected her to plead her innocence and to demand her freedom, not to beg for mercy like any sane man facing her fate would. Sir Rich and he turned around to go, leaving her behind in a place that she would never leave alive. The Queen he had once called a harlot was under lock and key, finally fallen from grace. He had expected it to be a triumph.

Perhaps this was the biggest surprise he'd ever experienced: Seeing Anne Boleyn fall wasn't enjoyable; it was unsettling and sad. He felt no satisfaction at all.

* * *

The owl landed on a window sill and pressed his face against the glass. Under normal circumstances his presence would have surely been noted since an owl out during the brightest time of the day was a curious sight indeed. Today, however, all the servants at Hatfield were far too busy and too concerned with themselves to take any notice of him.

His keen owl eyes browsed the room looking for a small redhead. When he finally found her, a lady was just trying to force her into a cloak that she obviously didn't like. An elderly woman rushed to her side. Archimedes cocked his ears to eavesdrop on the Princess's governess.

"Lady Elizabeth, you must do as you are told," Lady Bryan said sternly. "Now hush or I will hit you!"

The child flinched. Had he not heard it with his own ears, Archimedes would not have believed that anyone could treat a child, much less a royal child, so harshly. The hag had _indeed_ been right when she had predicted a hard and loveless future for the Princess!

"Don't look like that, girl," the governess added heartlessly. "We are ordered to remove the child so that she can be kept out of sight of the King."

"Little princess…" A lady-in-waiting murmured.

"She is no longer a princess. She is a bastard," Lady Bryan objected. "And Master Cromwell has asked for her accounts to be settled. Also, in respect of necessities provided for her mother in the Tower."

The lady raised her eyebrows. "You mean the child should pay for her mother's imprisonment?"

Archimedes held his breath. Even for an owl, a bird of prey, this seemed unnecessarily cruel.

"Yes, out of money the King pays for her household," the governess responded. She sighed. "Exactly. The world is a slippery place, my lady. If you would take my advice for what it's worth, find a rich man to marry who is too stupid to know anything about politics. Then perhaps – unless you die in childbirth, which is likely, or the plague, which is almost inevitable – then you will be happy."

The owl let out a sound of astonishment. Such cruelty! Such bitterness! When had the world become so dark? He turned around quickly, fearing that someone might have noticed his scream, and fluffed his wings to leap away from this dreadful place.

* * *

Merlin knew that he was going against his own rules, but he still felt that he had to do it. The Queen's executioner, a skilled swordsman from Calais, was already on his way. Her fate was sealed and there was nothing that could still be done about it, not even by a wizard. Then why had he deliberately delayed the deathsman by putting obstacles in his way? Archimedes had asked him that, and as usual, the owl was right in his prudence. It wasn't wise to interfere with strings already woven by fate; the consequences could be cataclysmic. Still, Merlin felt that he owed it to the Queen. He couldn't save her life, but he could do something else for her and for that, he needed more time.

"This way," Master Kingston told him.

Her prison cell was a room made out of stone, cold and dimly lit, but considerably comfortable compared to the other lodgings the Tower had to offer. Merlin didn't have to search for the Queen when he entered; he recognised her straight away. He also realised that she had aged visibly. Oh, what was English kingship doing to the people?

"Your Majesty, Master John Neill is here to see you," the Constable announced him.

The Queen nodded gracefully and allowed him in. Merlin took a few steps forward. He bowed before her as he had before many other queens, but rarely had he bowed as sincerely as he now did to her. There had been others he had admired, others he had pitied, but no one he had respected more. Even for someone who had seen a millennium of English rulers, Anne Boleyn was special.

"Majesty, I apologise for intruding at this late hour. You may not remember me," he carefully began.

"Master Neill… oh, I do remember you. You are an astrologer, are you not?" The Queen said composed. "You were amongst those who prophesied the King a son."

Merlin was forced to smile and nod, hastily taking off his hat in the course. "Yes, astrology is a part-time occupation of mine. But I must adjust Your Majesty's memory to the fact that I never predicted the birth of a son. I foretold that your child would be exceptional and gifted, and that it would be your husband's heir."

Anne sighed sadly. "There is no chance that this prediction of yours will come true now. I hear that His Majesty has declared our union null and void, thus creating my daughter a bastard in the eyes of the law."

"Well, yes, technically the Princess is named a bastard now, but it is no obstacle she cannot overcome, given time," Merlin replied hastily. Whenever he got nervous, the words just started to pour from his mouth like a waterfall. "What I mean is that in time, the King will change his mind, and no matter what the future holds, my prophecy will come true."

"And what if the Seymour girl bears him a son?" Anne asked coldly.

"Even then. It does not matter how many sons the King will have by no matter what woman – I saw the future of your child even when it was in your belly and this future is crowned. Your daughter will be Queen one day. She will bring about a golden age."

For a second, Anne's eyes sparkled the way they had once used to. "Then my blood will be well spent."

Merlin dared to smile and nod.

"Why have you come, then, Master Neill?"

"Why I… oh, yes, why am I here. Though my prediction was not untrue in the literal sense, I may understand why Your Majesty might have been disappointed with it, so I have come to make amends. I am here to offer you my services and answer your questions as best as I can without charge."

There was a moment of silence before the Queen laughed. It was a warm, honest, and heartfelt laughter. Drying some tears in the corners of her eyes she pointed towards a chair and took a seat herself. Her behaviour was peculiar, Merlin found, but he had long since stopped caring about the peculiarities of human behaviour. People were strange, especially royals. He had accepted that.

"Well then, Your Majesty, what do you want me to tell you?"

Anne looked at him directly now, her piercing dark eyes scrutinising every wrinkle on his face, it seemed. She took a deep breath.

"Since you have already given me the information I desire the most, may I ask this: You are saying that Elizabeth will be Queen and that her reign will be fortunate. Will she reign long?"

He closed his eyes for a second. Pictures began flickering in front of his eyes, blurry visions of the days that were to come. Clairvoyance was no exact science, a fact that he had always regretted, but then again he also regretted the fact that there was hardly any kind of exact science yet.

"Yes, she will. Her reign will extend into a new century," he finally said.

His words caused the Queen to smile. "This is good news. I take it then that she will continue the Tudor line and be succeeded by one of her children?"

Merlin closed his eyes again, this time longer. After a few minutes, he gave up. "This I cannot say with certainty. Your Majesty must know that while some things are inscribed in the book of fate, others only write themselves into it as they happen. I could find no clear image of your daughter's succession. She must find her own way."

"But she will be happy?"

He sighed. It was the one question he had dreaded before coming here because he had no answer to it. Even beforehand he had tried to find images of the Princess's adult life, but he had found none whatsoever. Her emotional life was a complete void in the book of fate. Nothing seemed to be decided yet, but clearly, this wasn't the answer the Queen was hoping for.

"There will be hard times for her, but I can assure you that someone will take care of the Princess. She will never be alone or unloved," he told her, knowing that it was not a prediction but a promise.

"Who?"

Her thoughts hit him hard in the face, so loud was her desperation now. He could sense that she hoped for her father to be a champion in her daughter's course, and it hurt him to disappoint her. Merlin had seen the future of Thomas Boleyn, but he wouldn't tell the Queen. It would be too painful. How could anyone tell a moribund daughter that her father would soon abandon her to rescue his skin?

"I couldn't tell," he hemmed and hawed.

Anne raised one of her slender eyebrows. "You could not or you would not?"

"Majesty, I could not, I mean, I would not, if you were to hear, I could not tell you…" Merlin stumbled over his tongue. "You wouldn't like it."

"Please tell me anyway, I must know."

Merlin sighed and nodded. "The Brandons."

"Suffolk?" The Queen exclaimed shocked. "No, it can't be. The Duke _hates_ me."

"No, Your Majesty, I mean yes, perhaps he does, but he _will _love your daughter, I promise you! He will take care of her and promote her interests, as will his son after him. Trust me, your daughter will be well." He tried to smile but suspected it looked less than assuring. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Another long moment of silence followed, so long in fact that Merlin considered repeating his question, but finally she answered.

"Will it hurt?"

He smiled. This was an easy question at last. "No. You won't feel anything except for peace."

"Good," the Queen nodded. After another minute, she added: "Does the King know I'm innocent of the charges put against me?"

Now, Merlin bit his lip again, knowing that no answer could possibly be a good one. But he had promised her answers, so answers would be what he gave her. He closed his eyes searching for the King.

"That I cannot see," he finally admitted. "It seems he has an inkling that he chooses to ignore, but whether or not he fully knows the truth I cannot say."

"It sounds very much like him," Anne returned bitterly. She looked him in the eyes. "But tell me, Master Neill: Will he be happy with his wench?"

Merlin closed his eyes again. The more he saw, the more his facial expressions betrayed him. He had deliberately abstained from searching the King's future up to this point fearing what he might see. Now he found he had been right in doing so. He sighed. Another promising King of England would go to waste. It was a pity.

"I fear I might be misinterpreting your face, Master Neill, but it appears that…"

"No," Merlin then said opening his eyes. "Oh, I apologise, I did not mean to interrupt you."

Anne shook her head. "I beg you, continue."

"I am afraid, Your Majesty, that the King will never be truly happy again. He might think so for a while, but his heart is hollow," Merlin truthfully explained.

The Queen nodded. "I am sorry to hear it."

For all he had done to her, she still pitied him! Human behaviour was peculiar indeed. Merlin stiffened his shoulders awaiting her next question, but instead of saying anything, the Queen began to smile.

"Thank you, Master Neill, for sharing your wisdom with me. It has taken a burden off my shoulders to know about Elizabeth's good fortune. You have given me strength when I needed it most, and for that, there can be no appropriate payment."

"If you are glad then so am I," Merlin responded.

They both rose from their chairs. Gallantly the Queen offered him her hand, a gesture he had not experienced in centuries. He took it solemnly and hinted a kiss while bowing before her.

"It was an honour, Your Majesty," he said smiling. "And may I say that I truly admire your last speech? Those words are superbly chosen."

"But I have not given my speech yet, how can you… oh." The Queen stopped herself. Then she too smiled. "Thank you, Master Neill. You really are a master prophet. May the Lord bless you."

He nodded and bowed again. Then he left her for good, left the prison and left the Tower, all the while cursing the fact that he couldn't change her sad fate. Destiny was a harsh mistress.

* * *

Charles had dreaded this moment and he could not believe it. Had someone told him this a year ago – that Anne Boleyn would be executed and that he would fear to witness it – he would not have believed them. It had seemed unlikely enough that she would ever fall, but it had been even more unlikely that he would not enjoy it. After all she had done to him and to others, was he not supposed to feel satisfaction?

"Here she is, the strumpet!"

Something inside his stomach turned. The people had never particularly liked their new queen, but to hear them shouting such pejorative names now somehow hurt the Duke of Suffolk. He knew she had been no saint and perhaps even deserved to die, but he knew that she was no strumpet. No matter what the King or others believed, Charles knew in his heart that she was innocent of the charges that would cost her the head.

Instinctively fearing the moment that was about to come, Charles pulled his son closer. Henry, now a fine and healthy lad of thirteen, had insisted on watching someone die. He had begged his father to be allowed to the execution and for reasons unbeknownst to him, Charles had agreed. Now that a wave of hatred was building up inside the Tower gates, he regretted this decision. He should have chosen someone else's execution.

And there she came. Her face was calm, though pale and plain, but the red satin cloak she wore made it clear for everyone that she was a queen indeed. Three maids followed her, unsettling expressions on their faces. She ascended the scaffold slowly, the cloak flowing around her shoulders like a stream of blood. It was a bizarre sight to see a person so clearly royal standing on a scaffold. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

She exchanged a few words with the Constable of the Tower before stepping into the front. Strangely, the clamour of the crowd began to die down even before she raised her voice.

"Good Christian people, I have come here to die according to the law and thus yield myself to the will of the King, my lord," she said solemnly.

"Hear, hear!" Some shouted.

"Long live the King!" Others interjected.

Charles pulled his son closer.

"And if, in my life, I ever did offend the King's grace, then surely with my death I do now atone."

The bells began to ring. The Queen was searching for her breath. It was clear to see that she was sad and full of fear, yet even in this darkest hour she upheld her composure. A cold shiver ran down Charles's back. This was far more intense than he had expected. Perhaps there was some truth to the claims of her witchcraft after all, for he felt utterly spell-bound to listen to her.

"I pray and beseech you all to pray for the life of the King, my sovereign lord and yours, who is one of the best princes on the face of the Earth who has always treated me so well, wherefore I submit to death with a good will, humbly asking pardon of all the world." Finally, her eyes had begun to sparkle again fiercely. "If anyone should take up my case, I ask them only to judge it kindly."

Charles could feel that his son was trying to hold back tears as the Queen's ladies rid her of her cloak and her jewellery. The maids, too, were close to or already crying. The atmosphere of hatred had suddenly turned into one of dismay and sadness. The Queen whispered thanks to her ladies and smiled. The Constable seemed to be unwilling to do the task he was ordered, but he gave a sign to the French executioner. The man knelt before the Queen to receive her absolution and the purse. Even he seemed distressed about his task.

"Thus I take my leave of the world and of you; and I heartily desire you all to pray for me."

Now, the crowd's yells had changed.

"We will!"

"May the Lord have mercy on you!"

"Mercy on your soul, love."

The Queen knelt down in prayer. Charles felt tempted to hide the scene from his young son's eyes with one of his hands, but a strong urge commanded him not to. He could sense that this was an important moment in the history of England. His son had to see it. Suddenly, the Archbishop of Canterbury himself knelt down, soon to be followed by more and more bystanders. Henry, too, dropped to his knees, leaving his amazed father as the last man standing. Finally coming to grips with the awkward situation he found himself in, Charles sank to the ground. The shouting and clamouring had completely died down, only low mumbles circulated around.

"Boy! Fetch my sword!" The hangman shouted.

A sharp blade emerged from underneath a cover.

A tear ran down Henry Brandon's cheek.

A cold shiver startled Charles.

A group of crowing birds distracted the kneeling Queen, causing her to look up into the sky.

She had never looked more beautiful than the moment before the sword hit her neck.

Everyone left quietly, many of them with tears in their eyes. Charles found horror and sadness when he looked into his son's face. He wished there was something he could say or do to alter the maddening experience of this execution for him, but there wasn't. They slowly pushed themselves out of the Tower through a large clamouring crowd of curious peasants. Their shouting was ear-deafening, but by a strange coincidence, Charles could hear one voice clearly.

"A penny for the orphans?"

It was a broken female voice, old and weak, but he heard it better than anyone else's. Shaken by the long-forgotten familiarity of her voice, Charles turned around.

"A penny for the orphans?" The toothless crone repeated.

It was _her_. She was here, she was real, he was not dreaming. It had not been a dream. Charles looked into the old hag's eyes realising that she had come to collect her price. Her choice of time and space left no doubt which orphan she had been referring to when she had asked a favour in return for Henry's life. Charles hesitated. It was a higher price than he had expected it to be.

* * *

"I do not like the idea," Catherine Brandon said sulkily.

Her husband clearly did not like to hear it. He grunted twice, walking up and down, before coming to stop in front of her.

"The King has already given me his permission to take in the Lady Elizabeth. He does not wish to see her. He… he has uttered doubts that she is even his child."

"Do you believe it to be true?" Catherine asked gasping.

"No. If I did, would we be having this conversation? His Majesty speaks out of anger, but he will recognise her as his natural daughter once this has passed. Nobody can deny their resemblance. And no matter her mother's faults, Lady Elizabeth is innocent. She is only a child, Catherine, how can we allow her to become a casualty in the wars of others?"

His wife sighed deeply. "She's the harlot's child."

Charles too sighed. He had expected her to be reluctant, given that her mother had been one of the Spanish ladies serving Catherine of Aragon. She was natural to side with Mary now, considering her to be legitimate and Elizabeth to be a bastard thus. He didn't like imposing his decisions on her just like that, considering that he was genuinely fond of her, but she was only a girl after all. She was sixteen – what knowledge of the world could she possess? He was her husband. He knew best. He had made a decision.

"But she is a child nonetheless," he tried to soothe her. "In the sense of Christian charity, we cannot turn her away. God will surely repay us."

"Edward and Henry are enough trouble for me," Catherine objected, referring to her infant son by him.

"There's always space for one more," Charles returned firmly. "The King has given his permission and I have made my decision. The Lady is to arrive the day after tomorrow and I will have everything prepared for her. You will be a kind and loving foster mother to her, are we agreed on that?"

There was no answer.

"Please, Catherine, don't make it hard on me. She is just an innocent child. Her mother is dead, and if ever you feared her influence, you now have the chance to set things straight."

"Alright," his wife finally agreed.

He stepped forward to kiss her on the cheek and smiled. "Thank you, my beautiful wife. Make sure everything is ready when she arrives."

"Who arrives?" A curious voice asked from behind them.

Charles turned around and grinned. "Did I not tell you to knock before entering?"

"I am sorry, Sir. Inexcusable. Won't happen again," the boy hurried to say. "So, who is coming?"

"Your cousin will come from Hatfield tomorrow."

"Oh, the Princess?"

"It is Lady Elizabeth now," Catherine corrected him. "The King has declared his marriage to her mother invalid, thus making her a bastard."

The boy opened his mouth and closed it again without saying anything. He searched his father's face for answers. "This is very sad," he finally mumbled.

"It is," Charles found himself agreeing. He went over to Henry and put an arm around his shoulder. "Which is why you must be especially nice to your cousin when she comes. Legitimate or not, she is the King's daughter and has as much Tudor blood as you have. I expect you to treat her with respect just as a true knight would."

"Of course, Father," the boy returned dutifully. "I would never make a lady unhappy."

"Then why don't you go and prepare a gift to give to her when she arrives?" Catherine suggested.

"Brilliant!" Henry nodded smiling. "I'll be right off!"

Before his father could say anything else, the boy had run away like a lightning bolt. He looked at his wife surprised by her sudden suggestion of kindness. In her eyes he could see that his son's knightly behaviour had touched her as well.

Catherine smiled. "It might do no harm to give the girl a chance. She is just a child after all."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Charles replied smiling as well, "you will make a wonderful foster mother."

* * *

**AN: So here's chapter 2. Hope you enjoyed it and will stick around for the next instalment in which young Elizabeth will finally meet her knight. Also, Anne will make reappearance and meet with an unexpected person. I'd also like to thank my reviewers, _Guest_ and _Starfire201_. Feel free to review!**

**A hint to the Wolsey joke: Merlin's pseudonym is a dead giveaway. **


	3. Witch Like Me

**Witch Like Me**

Charles Brandon was astonished. The nights before Lady Elizabeth had joined his household had been long and sleepless, filled to the brim with anxious thoughts. Having her with him was a very dangerous pathway over a gaping abyss. Every step he took could be one too many. What if the King changed his mind and wanted Elizabeth out of his life for good? What if the girl turned out to be a spoiled brat? What if his wife could not overcome her reservation towards the child? What if his son did not get along with her?

One month after her arrival at Suffolk, Charles was astonished to find that his worries about the last point had been completely unnecessary. When he had introduced the young motherless lady to his son, they had instantly gotten along. For a moment, Charles had felt the tip of a feather caressing his skin as if the wings of fate had embraced the two children. Could it be true?

His son had only recently hit puberty. Sure, he was a duke's son and a king's nephew educated in good manners and courtly behaviour, but even he couldn't escape the flaws of his age. He would speak up to his father more often, would ignore commands and roam around the manor without giving notice. Catherine had her hands full with the boy complaining about it all day since she rather wished to spend her time with her own infant son. But for a month now, Catherine had hardly complained to her husband at all.

And now Charles was standing on a balcony watching with amazement how his thirteen year old son carried around the former princess on his shoulders. They were rushing through the summer gardens laughing gleefully. What kind of strange coincidence was this? His son, the very boy who had found it so hard to concentrate on anything for more than half an hour only months ago, was now spending hours doing the simplest stuff with a much younger child. They spent a lot of time on the outside exploring the grounds of Charles's estate or tending to horses. Sometimes, in the afternoon, Charles would walk in on his son reading fairy tale stories to his infant cousin. His son! Reading! He could have chased the boy with books months ago as if they were holy water and he was the devil, and now he was reading voluntarily.

"Throw me!" The little girl's voice was carried over to him by the wind.

Charles watched his son taking her into his arms and throwing her up in the air only to catch her again. It was a heart-warming sight, heart-breaking even. To think that the girl had just lost her mother… to think that his son would have never lived to see this day… it all seemed so unlikely to Charles.

He turned away from the window strolling down the stairs. Before he could leave the house, however, he encountered his young bride.

"Charles," she greeted him happily. "There you are. I've been looking for you."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, Your Grace, it is just… you had promised to spend the afternoon with me and Edward, don't you remember?"

He nodded. "Of course I remember, darling. I'll be with you momentarily, only I need to check on Henry and Elizabeth for a second, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," she replied and smiled. Whether or not it was feigned he could not tell. "I am delighted that they should get along so well."

"So am I, dear. It takes a burden off all our shoulders, yours especially. Now you have more time to focus on our darling boy Edward," Charles spoke what he supposed she was thinking.

Catherine continued to smile. "Yes."

"Then you'll excuse me for a moment?" He asked placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Of course, dear husband. I shall be waiting for you in the nursery."

He waited for her to leave before exiting the building, unsure whether she was just playing her part or whether she had settling in with the new situation. At least she was obviously trying – could he ask for more? She was a good and dutiful wife despite her young years and was willing to please him. He could not expect her to change her mind all of a sudden, could he?

It took him a while to find them. Finally, he happened to hear the girl's high-pitched voice from around a corner.

"What's this?"

Charles smiled. At almost three, Elizabeth wasn't yet very apt with words, but she was keen and curious to learn everything. Given time, she would surely prove to be exceptionally intelligent, even for a girl. Perhaps he would ask the King to pay for a tutor… one day, once his anger had cooled down.

"That's a bow," the voice of his son replied.

"I want it."

"No, you can't," Henry replied. Obviously startled by her disappointment, he quickly added: "It's dangerous. If you don't know how to use it, you will hurt yourself or others, Beth."

Charles had stopped just around the corner. He had refrained from interrupting their conversation now; it was far too interesting to be cut off.

"But you have it," the girl finally responded.

"Yes, I do. My father has taught me how to use it."

The girl clapped her hands happily. "Show me! Show me!"

Charles held his breath and waited for his son's response, but there was none. He wouldn't do anything irresponsible, would he? There was a faint but unmistakable sound of a bow being drawn, and then, soon after, of an arrow being realised. The girl cheered and squealed with glee.

"Very good! You are a archer!"

"It's 'an archer', Beth," Henry corrected her.

"An archer!" She repeated determined. "Archer! Archer!"

The conversation was now drowning in her happy babble, causing Charles to assume that it was safe to interrupt now. He ventured around the corner and cleared his throat. The children went quiet instantly, with Elizabeth half hiding behind her cousin's back.

"Father, we… we were just…"

"I know what you have been doing, Henry," Charles said sternly. He kept the boy on tenterhooks for a moment before adding: "You were introducing the Lady Elizabeth to the dangers and merits of archery, were you not?"

"Yes," Henry hurried to affirm it. "Yes, that was exactly what I was doing. I told her it was too dangerous for her."

"Very good. We wouldn't want the King's daughter to get hurt, now or ever, would we?"

Elizabeth, upon hearing this, smiled heart-melting. "I like you, Uncle Charles," she whispered.

Charles felt almost swept off his feet by her sincere naivety, but before he could imagine an answer to the compliment, his son had put his arms akimbo and looked at the girl with a stern face.

"And me? Don't you like me, my Lady?"

"I like you too, Archer," she said smiling and embraced one of his legs.

Charles watched them in complete amazement. He had never expected any of this to happen, but now that it did take place, he considered it to be a true gain. Whatever reasons the strange woman had had to demand this price of him, she had hardly been unreasonable. In a way, Charles felt twice blessed: Once with the life of his son and twice with the newly acquired presence of the King's bastard daughter. Fate chose strange ways, but for him, right here and now, life was good.

* * *

The heavy snowfall on the outside perfectly mirrored the chilly thoughts inside of Charles Brandon's head as they rode to Hampton Court. Despite sitting in a warm carriage surrounded by those he held dear, Charles couldn't suppress feeling as if he were freezing. They were heading to Court for Christmastide celebrations as usual, but for once Charles didn't know what to expect. Only two days before they had left the Suffolk estate, a letter had arrived indicating that the King wished to see his bastard daughter for Christmas. Cromwell's wording left no doubt that this matter wasn't negotiable. As much as King Henry had wanted to rid himself of his daughter by Anne Boleyn in summer, he now wanted her back at court.

Why? Charles was unsure what to make of it. His young wife Catherine had taken it as a sign that the King's anger had faded away, but being his best friend of many years, Charles knew better. The King had not forgiven nor forgotten Anne Boleyn. Perhaps he never would. And Elizabeth, no matter her future brightness or beauty, would always remind him of the woman he had torn England apart for only to be betrayed by her. So why would he want to see her?

Charles worried that it was just pretence to get Elizabeth into royal custody again, only to throw her into some far-away house with little staff and even less money. What if the King's anger hadn't cooled down at all? Considering his ever-changing moods, it was more than likely. He had kept this fear from his wife and son knowing that both of them were far too young to be concerned with such complicated matters. But as they rode through the snowstorm, Charles found that he could come to a decision on his own: If the King should try to take Elizabeth away from him, he would fight. He would defy his sovereign if necessary to protect the young girl not only because he had sworn to do so, but because it was right.

He liked the girl after all. She was cute and bright and charming, how could anyone not be fond of her? Even his wife had taken a liking in the King's bastard daughter despite hating her mother with a passion. And Henry… he doted on his young cousin.

"Comment tu t'appelles?" The boy asked curiously.

Elizabeth's brown eyes sparkled fiercely. She hesitated for only a second before replying: "Je m'appelles Elizabeth."

"Very good," Henry nodded. "Your French is getting better by the day, don't you think, Father?"

"Indeed it is, my Lady Elizabeth. You are a very diligent student, much more so than my son, I presume. Given another few months, you'll certainly outperform him," Charles agreed mocking his son's laziness at the same time.

Henry grimaced back at him. "French is not my favourite," he defended himself. "But Beth is a natural; everyone can see that. Maybe you should address the King in French when we are presented to him, so that he can see how good you are?"

The girl smiled and blushed, but Charles frowned. Speaking French with the King was something his beloved daughter would have done… but perhaps not what he expected of his banished bastard. Perhaps seeing how talented she was would remind him of the talents of her mother, perhaps he would even regret having sent her away – and regret was never a good thing with King Henry. It made him even angrier to realise that he had been wrong. He might take it out on Elizabeth.

Before he could put his worries into words, his wife raised her voice.

"No matter what language you choose, my Lady, always remember that you must address the King properly. He may be your father, but he is also the King," she reminded the girl.

Elizabeth nodded dutifully. "Of course, Your Grace."

Now Charles was forced to smile. Despite being only three and often speaking inconsistently as young children tended to do, Elizabeth seemed to possess a sixth sense for titles and proper forms of address. She never misbehaved in front of nobles. Had things been different, the King would have had every reason to be proud of her.

"Darling, Elizabeth needs not be reminded of the virtue of courtliness," he softly said to his wife, "the Lady possesses it in her nature."

Catherine took his hand. "You are right of course. I just wanted to make sure that she knew… forgive me, I am new to being a mother."

"Still you are doing admirably well, sweetheart," Charles assured her patting her hair. "Everything will be well, I promise you, and we shall all spend wonderful days at court."

* * *

Henry was nervous. It had been more than two years since he had last visited with the King even though he was his uncle. His father had assured him that there was nothing to be afraid of, that the King would receive him on the friendliest terms, and that all he needed to do was to behave properly. As if that was such a small deal! When he noticed the massive amount of people gathering in the great hall, Henry began to feel queasy. What if he tripped? What if he bumped into someone? What if he began to stutter when the King addressed him?

He would shame himself and his father. The mere thought of it frightened the young boy. So many eyes were resting upon him as he entered the great hall and made his way towards the dais. And there he was, King Henry XIII of England, the glorious king, his uncle, his namesake. Beside him were two ladies, one of which Henry remembered to be his other cousin, the Lady Mary, and a plump blonde whom he deducted to be Queen Jane. She was smiling graciously, but apart from that, there was little charm about her.

Memories came back into the boy's head as he knelt before the dais, memories of a sunny day in May – the day he had watched a queen die. His skin began prickling. The moment had been so intense that it had created one of the most vivid memories he possessed. He remembered everything about Queen Anne: her face, her fierce eyes, her raven hair, her plain gown, her slender neck, her stiff shoulders… and her words. Her words had touched him the way nothing had ever done before. Being only thirteen, Henry didn't know much about the world, but he was sure of one thing: that he had watched a great woman die.

This new queen was no great woman.

"My dear nephew; let me look at you," the King addressed him smiling. "How tall you have become and how handsome. Do you not think so, Mary?"

"Yes, Majesty. He will be a court favourite one day," the King's bastard daughter agreed smiling gently.

The King nodded. "We are pleased to have you here at court, Lord Brandon." He waited for the boy to go away, but there was no reaction.

Henry's palms began sweating. He had been told to remain here under all circumstances, but now he found it hard to withstand the King's gaze. What if he offended the King by not merging with the crowd?

The King frowned and looked to his wife, then to his eldest daughter, both of which were smiling. He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you ladies conspiring something?" He asked quietly.

The Queen bent over. "We would both like to present someone else to Your Majesty this Christmastide."

"Very well."

It was Henry's prompt. He went a few steps backwards and stepped aside to make way for this special guest. Turning around he saw his little cousin approaching him in a lovely bordeaux dress. She smiled shyly at him and quickly searched for his hand as he led her towards the dais. The King's eyes were on her like a hawk's. Henry held his cousin's hand more firmly and would only let go when they had reached the dais to bow.

He cleared his throat to say what he had been told. "Your Majesty, this is…"

"My daughter Elizabeth," the King interrupted him. "You don't need to tell me."

Absolute silence. Most people present were fully aware of the significance of this moment. There were so many unspoken fears about that Henry could almost imagine them forming a cloud and raining down upon them like a thunderstorm. Though he did not truly understand the King's difficult family relations, he knew perfectly well how important this situation was for Elizabeth. Her father had been displeased with her mother and thus with her, but now was her chance to win him back. Seeing that this would make her happy, Henry wished for nothing else.

The King leant forward to look at her. "Come here, child."

Henry felt that she would have loved to turn around and look at him just to assure herself that everything was alright, but being the princess that she truly was, the little girl pulled herself together and ventured forward on her own.

"Votre Majesté, ça va ?," she asked.

Henry suppressed a smile. She had actually done it! It was his tutelage and she had dared to speak French! And there, behold, the King was smiling, too!

"Ça va bien, ma petite. Viens ici," he replied and pointed towards his chair.

The little girl did as she was told and climbed the dais only to be picked up by her royal father and placed on his lap. The King patted her cheek and kissed her forehead like any normal father would have done. Henry smiled. It was a success for both of them.

The King laughed and looked back at his nephew, and then at his guests. He seemed to be very proud.

"Je suis en famille!"

* * *

Swoosh.

Mim fulminated through the window like a lightning bolt. Grabbing her broom with both hands she tried to slow it down, get it back under control, but instead she touched the floor ruggedly. She quickly let go off the stick and instinctively curved her back, thus rolling a few metres forward before making the acquaintance of Merlin's long case clock. A long, dark gong tone sounded through the room.

"I had expected you sooner," Merlin's voice called her from next door.

Patting the dust off her clothes, Mim rose to her feet again. She gave the long case clock a killing glance and looked for her broomstick.

"I came as soon as I heard. Couldn't have been here earlier – what do you expect me to, fly?"

"Certainly not," a snidely voice said behind her. It was Archimedes. "This clumsy bumbling stick-hopping of yours certainly cannot be called flying."

"If I were you, poultry, I'd be careful not to antagonise those with hands to rip out your feathers," Mim returned pertly.

"Ah, I can feel the love around me already," Merlin interrupted them by leaving the kitchen accompanied by a serving table carrying a cake and two cups of ale. "Isn't it good to be amongst friends on such a joyful day?"

Mim and Archimedes exchanged a few threatening (though not _seriously _threatening) glances before going over to the table. The witch took a seat.

"Is it joyful, Merlin? I couldn't tell."

"Of course it is, Madam. A child has been born."

"Children are born every day," she returned unimpressed.

Merlin shook his head. "But not the sons of kings."

"Pah, what does it matter, now? You've said yourself that his elder sister will be Queen, what good is his birth, then?"

"Don't ask," Archimedes interjected, "he doesn't have a satisfying answer to it. Tried it myself, you see."

Not hearing this, the wizard smiled gently. "Ah, dear Madam Mim, of course you would not understand it. It should not matter that little Prince Edward will probably never be King or that he might not live long. He is a king's son; an important creature in the eyes of fate."

"Yea, yea, you believe that; but to me, his birth has only one benefit: at least the King will now stop changing wives more often than others change their undergarments," Mim replied. "What cake is this?"

Confused by her words, Archimedes looked up and down himself, wondering how her analogy applied to him, given that he had never changed his undergarments. In fact, he had never possessed any. Was he never to have a wife, as well? His eyes widened in shock.

"It is also important that the King's quest for a son will now cease. Perhaps it will do good for the happiness of his daughter," Merlin added convinced. "It's a red wine cake that I've made. You want some?"

"You've made it? Under normal circumstances, I'd care too much for my life to risk negligent poisoning… but since I see you've put effort in it and I don't want to hurt your feelings and since your bird's on fire, I'll do you the favour and take a piece."

Smiling, Merlin served her a slice, completely ignoring the hint she had given him about his owl. Archimedes, however, had heard her words and looking at his left side, he found that she was right. Occupied with his own fearful thoughts he had not noticed that his left wing had come dangerously close to a candle, and now, the tips of his feathers were already charred.

"Ahhh," he cried.

Chattering around hectically he tried to smother the flames, but the heat continued to rise.

"Ahhhh!"

"Archimedes!" Merlin screamed.

Splash.

Upon Mim's hint, a bucket of water used for floor cleaning had leapt towards the panicked owl and had poured itself over him like a waterfall. Now, Archimedes was sitting on a small stool looking soaking wet. His eyes turned angry.

"Youuuu…. Witch….!"

"No need to thank me, poultry," Mim replied smiling and turned back to Merlin as if nothing had happened. "So, where were we? Ah, the little Prince. Yes, the King has a legitimate son now, but how is this supposed to do any good for the lady you care about so much? If anything, the King is likely to forget about her now seeing that he finally has his golden boy."

"He can't forget about her. You have seen her yourself, haven't you? She is a bright child, perhaps the brightest I've ever met. There's a great future ahead of her," Merlin protested.

Mim shrugged. "The King won't see it that way, not unless she miraculously develops a willie. For some reason, humans seem to be very occupied with willies. I've never understood that."

"Excuse me, I've almost burned and now I'm soaked and dirty, does anyone care?" Archimedes called from behind them.

"Go dry yourself in front of the fireplace," Merlin returned. He seemed to be too occupied with his conversation to truly care. "It does not matter what the King sees and what remains obscure to him. You and I have seen the girl's future, and fate knows we'll soon be needing someone of her talents if my latest predictions are true. I have seen discord and uprising and blood, Mim. Dark times are ahead of us."

Her mouth half filled with cake, Mim replied: "You're always saying that. If I'd still trust your judgment on apocalyptic events, I'd be frenzying every decade."

"But I mean it," Merlin insisted, trying to put some gravity into his voice. "I fear that royal rule might vanish from English soil entirely."

Mim shrugged. "Could be worse," she said laconically. "Just because I have promised to aid you with this girl does not mean I share your fears or opinions on the future of this country, old man." She rose from her chair.

"Where are you going? Every time we have an argument you're leaving!" Merlin protested.

"Let her go and tend to my burn," Archimedes interjected sourly.

Chuckling, Mim picked up her broom. "I'd love to pretend that I was just leaving because I see no point in arguing with you, but I have another appointment, in fact. I've waited quite some time to meet her and now that she's in town I'd be sorry to keep her waiting."

"Her? Who?"

Mim smiled and jumped on her stick. "See you soon, old man."

"I demand an answer, Madam!"

But there was none. She rushed through the window as quickly as she had entered and was gone. Merlin watched her half angry, half confused.

"Forget about her and help me collect my charred feathers," Archimedes crowed.

* * *

She had never imagined that this could be possible. True, it had been known to her that Lady Mary cared for her younger half-sister despite her bad feelings towards the girl's mother, but to see them sleeping in the same bed was surprising. In a way, it reminded her of her own elder sister Mary with whom she had loved to lie in bed and speak about their future husbands.

God, how wrong they had been!

Mary had gone through many affairs and a loveless marriage before finding a man she truly cared for only to be expelled from court – and she was the luckier one. Anne had not been lucky, though once it had seemed so. She had been Queen, mother of a perfect darling girl, but now she was nothing but a spectre. She was dead, gone, and vanished. It hadn't been worth it except for Elizabeth.

Anne's hollow eyes filled with joy to see her daughter again after what felt like an eternity. She had used all her persuasion skills to be granted this leave and to see her daughter in this moment of need. And no matter how happy the girl looked right now, it was a moment of need nonetheless. The birth of her half-brother would change Elizabeth's life forever.

"Boys are more important," the Lady Mary explained to the young redhead.

"I don't think so," Elizabeth returned.

Anne's heart leapt with joy. _That's my girl! _

"She really is a clever lass," a strange voice suddenly remarked.

The dead Queen turned around astonished to find a womanly creature standing next to her. The lady was small but rather podgy, had wiry white hair and wore a hideous lilac dress. On top of that, Anne soon discovered, her face was reasonably ugly. What on earth was that?

"What?" Anne muttered under her breath.

"Oh, yea, I'm sorry. She really is a clever lass, _Your Majesty_," the creature repeated and indicated a curtsey.

Anne shook her head so vigorously that she feared it might come off again. "No, I meant what… who are you?"

"Ah, well I have many names, most of which are long forgotten, so if you feel you need to call me anything, Mim will do."

"Mim?" Anne raised an eyebrow. "Your name explains nothing, forgive me, but who are you? Why are you here?"

"To watch."

"I don't know you and neither does my daughter. Why were you allowed to come here?"

Mim laughed weirdly and so loud that Anne was certain even the living could hear it, but the two sisters united in their bastardy were sleeping peacefully still.

"You are mistaken, Your Majesty, to think that I am dead like you. No one has to give me permission to go anywhere. I do as I please."

Anne couldn't imagine being free like this. No human was. "Then what are you?"

"It would take us too far for me to explain that, far too far," Mim assured her. "For now let us only assume that I mean no harm to your daughter or to you. I work in the employ of fate, you could say that, yea, and I came to see how your daughter fares now that the King has a son. And why are you here?"

"The same reason," Anne admitted and turned to watch Elizabeth once more. "She seems so peaceful now… but I fear that this little brat will take away what is rightfully hers. Elizabeth was born to wear the crown. It shouldn't be resting on the child of a wench." She sighed. "I suppose I also came to see the boy with my own eyes. To see if it was real that _she _has succeeded where I have failed."

Mim could feel the bitterness in her words. Usually she cared not much for human's trifles since she couldn't understand them. The scorn of a woman, however, was one of the very few things she was familiar with. A grin appeared on her face.

"She might not be able to enjoy that triumph for long. I've heard that she has contracted childbed fever," Mim spread some gossip.

There was no reaction on the former Queen's ghostly face for a long time, but Mim waited patiently. She was too curious to hear what Anne would say to this news.

"I cannot say that I pity her," Anne finally said.

"Ah, but are you not compelled to be forgiving and everything now that you're dead?" Mim teased her.

"Dying changes nothing. She has brought about my death, so why would losing my head make it any more forgivable?" Anne shook her head. "As I do not expect the Princess Dowager to forgive me for what she considers my damage to her, I will not forgive this wench that she has separated me from my daughter only to win a prize. I have been hated by all for what I did, yet she is the sweet angel – but I see through it. I will not forgive her and I will hate her for her scheme. Even if I'm the only one."

Mim smiled broadly feeling thrilled. "You would have made a fine witch in my time," she stated. "We should have met earlier. If only I had listened to Merlin when he told me about your talents."

Now, Anne turned her gaze away from her sleeping daughter and watched the small woman with surprise. "Merlin? The wizard of the old legends?"

"Yes, though he is nothing like the legends, trust me. Much more whiny and clumsy, but an excellent cook, I'll give him that."

Anne couldn't believe her ears. "The wizard is real? How can this be? And how could he tell you about me? I don't understand this."

"Why, because he's met you, love," Mim explained smiling. "Though I hardly guess he introduced himself to you. He doesn't go by his real name any more like all of us. Such a shame, actually, that the times are thus that we must stay in seclusion. But surely you'll remember him. Tall, slender, grey beard, strange nose, odd accent, always talking too much…"

"Neill?" Anne interrupted her gasping. "John Neill, the astrologer?"

"Could be. Astrology is one of his favourite past-times right behind cooking and messing with English history," Mim said cackling.

Anne's eyes were wide with surprise. "The astrologer was Merlin? My God… can this… but then… his prophecy was real? It will come true?"

"At least it seems likely. He's bad at interfering with history, but in predicting it, he's usually right. What did he augur you?"

"That my daughter will be Queen and that her reign will be long and glorious," Anne said proudly.

"That's what he told me as well, so I guess it will come true eventually. You need not fear for her safety or anything, we're taking care of her," Mim assured her in a rare trace of kindness. "I've made sure there would always be someone loving her by saving the Brandon boy."

"Suffolk's son? That was you?" Anne couldn't help being amazed still.

"No need to thank me, I know that good deeds don't become me, but it was for a higher purpose," Mim defended herself. "At least we can all be sure that he will never abandon her. All is going according to our plan. We're prepared for her destiny."

Anne smiled. "I'm glad to hear it." Had she been alive still, she would have asked so many questions. She wouldn't have desisted until she had fully understood everything that was going on between this Mim and John Neill who happened to be a legendary wizard. But now she wouldn't. Curiosity was for the living, but being dead she had only one care left: Elizabeth. The strange woman had told her that everything would be alright for Elizabeth, so there was nothing left to ask.

"I guess I must go now, Your Majesty. 't was a pleasure speaking to you and perhaps we'll meet again when the time comes," Mim suddenly said.

"I'd be pleased to. I haven't had this interesting a conversation in years."

"But you've only been dead for a year."

Anne smiled sadly. "My body. My heart has died long before when I saw him loving others."

"As I said, you'd have made a great witch," Mim affirmed her own words and winked. "If you'll excuse me now."

Anne pulled her back. "What do you mean, witch?" People had called her that when she'd been alive; they'd accused her of witchcraft and pacts with the devil. But coming from the mouth of this old hag, it sounded like a compliment.

"A witch. Don't you know what that is?" Mim sighed. "What times are those that people have forgotten the merits of witches? They are a force of fate. They are powerful women whose magic is deeply rooted in their feelings."

"Someone like you?" Anne dared to ask.

"Like me indeed. I am Madam Mim, one of the mightiest witches there ever was," Mim proclaimed solemnly, a dark aura appearing around her like a cloak of mist. "One of the last that remain. And in another life, I would have made you a witch like me."

Anne hesitated to speak, but a sudden urge forced her to. "I am sorry it did not come that way."

"Don't be," Mim shook her head. "Witches are never sorry. We are strong and powerful and unafraid. Just as you were when you were alive."

"Yes," Anne found herself agreeing and smiled. "I would thank you, but I suppose you don't need or want my thanks."

Mim winked. "You really are a clever lass, Your Majesty."

Then she smiled, and Anne smiled, and both of them disappeared.

* * *

**AN: Sorry to have kept you waiting, I've had my wisdom teeth removed. Painkillers aren't exactly a source of creativity, it appears, but now I'm back. I'll be working on **_**God Works in Mysterious Ways**_** this week as well, so you'll probably see an update soon.**

**Please review this chapter to let me know what you like/dislike and where you think this story should be heading. Thanks to my new reviewers **_**Lady Eleanor Boleyn, Pitaya, CeeCee, Keisha, Robin4 **_**and of course**_** PhantomProducer **_**who got the Wolsey joke! **


	4. Anne for Anne

**Anne for Anne**

Charles Brandon couldn't actually get to grips with what he was doing right now. On a mechanical level, perhaps, everything worked out well – his legs moved, his lips said the right words, and his poise was perfect. The only thing detached from the reality he was wandering through was his mind. Was this _really_ happening?

It seemed too weird to be true. He had watched his best friend and king defy his dead father's wishes by marrying a cast-off Spanish princess for love. He had watched the same man slowly drifting away from his gentle wife with every miscarriage she suffered. He had watched him fight bitterly to be rid of her. He had watched him take a new wife, one whom many called a whore and heretic, even if that marriage meant tearing apart England. He had watched him loving her and hating her both with the same intensity. He had watched him cutting off her head. He had watched him taking a third wife, pliable but boring, who had died shortly after. Three wives had come and gone, none had met with a good end. To Charles, it seemed like a fairy tale turned into horror, and Henry had just made him part of it.

He had journeyed to Calais to receive the woman who was to become his friend's fourth wife. _The poor woman_, he was inclined to think. As much as he loved and admired his king, he was slowly beginning to believe that Henry's marital life was cursed. Perhaps he himself was cursed to cause his women so much misery and pain. He had banished one, killed another, and allowed the last one to die. What would he do to number four now?

Anne, that was her name, another Anne to be the wife of King Henry VIII. Charles could only hope that she would meet another fate than her namesake. He may not have liked Anne Boleyn, sometimes even hated her, but in her final moments he had come to respect and pity her. He did not wish to face such a moment ever again.

Charles carefully scrutinised the woman sitting in front of him. The situation seemed stiff and awkward – a dozen of her servants were watching them like greedy dogs waiting to be fed. She herself was awkward, too: She wore unfashionable black clothes and a long, dark veil. Was that German tradition? No wonder they were known to be boring and humourless. Or was this one of the effects of radical Lutheranism; the relinquishment of every earthly pleasure and splendour? Whatever it was, Charles did not like it, and neither would King Henry. His only hope was that, in an English dress and without the hideous veil, Anne of Cleves would be more pleasing to the eye.

"Is it not bat to gamble?" Anne asked him, her English heavily accented.

Her naivety forced him to smile. "Not if you can afford to lose," he replied. "We'll play piquet, it's not hard to learn."

It was the least he could do. Anne of Cleves seemed to be a kind spirit undeserving of the wrath she might face soon enough. If it was within Charles's powers to make her more pleasing to the King, he would try his utmost to help her. _Not another failed marriage_, he prayed to God, _not another unhappy woman._

A lightning outside cast a few seconds of light upon her face. Charles couldn't see whether it was beautiful or ugly, but there was one thing he could clearly see: She was afraid.

"What have they told you about the King?" He asked very quietly.

"Why?" The German bride replied. "Whot is it I shoult know?"

Charles Brandon had no answer. He could not speak his mind in front of her servants and English courtiers, especially when speaking his mind would include comments about the King that were less than flattering. But even if they had been alone, he wouldn't have known what to say. Had no one told her about the sad fate of her predecessors? No, her family must have told her. Or was her brother really the heartless fiend he was rumoured to be? Then how was he, Brandon, the King's best friend, to tell her that she might be facing a life of hardship and perhaps even a traitor's death if she failed to produce a Duke of York or to please the King? He didn't hate King Henry, even if his thoughts right now were bad, but he was enough of a realist to know that his friend could be harsh, intemperate and irrational. He wanted to warn the clueless bride, but how could he? How could anyone tell her what would happen to her when she set foot on English soil?

How could he tell her she was about to marry a monster?

* * *

"Must you really do it?"

Elizabeth was on his bed staring at the canopy, her legs hanging over the edge, whilst Henry was rushing around the room trying to choose which clothes to pack.

"Of course I must, Beth. Your father has commanded me to," he replied smiling.

"I know that he has, but he can change his mind, can he not? He does so rather frequently," Elizabeth remarked sharply. "It just seems odd."

Almost stumbling over a small stool, Henry laughed. "What seems odd? That he commands me to marry?"

"Everything," Elizabeth returned kicking one of the bed posts. "Why is he marrying this foreign woman? And who is your fiancée, anyway?"

"Her name's Catherine, Beth, I have told you twice. She is the new Queen's cousin and thus very important. Your father wants a political alliance with the Protestant League. If he marries Anne of Cleves and I am wed to Catherine, then there are strong family bonds between our countries," Henry Brandon explained to her as if she wasn't a seven year old girl. "We could match the French then, or even the Emperor. England would not need to be hostage to their political games anymore."

"Then it is just about politics."

Henry nodded smiling. "Everything is just about politics; marriages in particular," he replied. Taking a bracelet from his drawer, he turned to her. "Do you think this matches my black doublet?"

"I'd rather go for the silver one." Elizabeth rose from the bed. "But does it have to be that way? Marriage is a holy sacrament, is it not? It cannot be only politics. What about love? The King must love his queen."

"Love emerges with time, I am told. It is about knowing and respecting someone, so how can you love a person when you've just met them?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Then don't marry a stranger."

Her stubbornness caused him to laugh. He ventured over to her and tousled her hair. "Oh Beth, things aren't always so easy. Most people have no choice in their marriage and barely know their spouse before the wedding. It's conventional."

There was a long moment of silence. Henry wondered what happened inside his cousin's head, a question he asked himself quite frequently, but never did he receive a fully satisfying answer. She was far more precocious than any other child of her age; in fact, she was the cleverest person he had ever met. Her mind was a complete riddle to him.

"My father knew my mother many years before they wed. He married her for love," she suddenly said, and in a much less secure voice she added: "Didn't he?"

Henry sighed. The topic of her mother was one that was best avoided since it still angered the King to be reminded of her. For Elizabeth's sake, it seemed, it was best that nobody connected her with the deceased Anne Boleyn. Henry's father had driven it into him to always speak of her as the King's daughter, never Anne's. It was in her best interest to forget about her, but Henry could understand why she would not. If there was anyone who knew what losing a mother at a young age felt like - especially a mother whose spirit was less than conventional - it was clearly him.

"I don't know, Beth, I was too young then to remember."

"Uncle Charles told me to forget about her and don't ask the King," Elizabeth went on rather sadly. "But he didn't say I could not ask you. I thought perhaps you knew."

Now he felt guilty for not providing her with the answer she was so obviously longing for. His heart had had a soft spot for her from the very beginning, thus seeing her sad and disappointed hurt him deeply. Henry put a hand on her shoulder and tried to smile.

"I have heard that the King once loved your mother very much. People say he would have started a war for her," he tried to give her at least something. "Your father loved your mother. I cannot think it otherwise."

Elizabeth smiled for a moment, but it soon faded away into her usual contemplative face. "Have you ever met her?"

"Your mother?" Henry raised an eyebrow. A cold shiver ran down his spine. "Yes… once. But… Beth, I really can't…"

"I won't ask about it," she cut him short. "I just want one answer. How did you find her?"

Henry's heart began beating very fast as the memories of Anne Boleyn's execution started to flash into his mind. He looked into his cousin's eyes, those dark eyes that were so much like her mother's. They had been Anne Boleyn's most powerful weapon, and looking at Elizabeth now he instinctively knew that they would once be hers, too.

"She… um." He cleared his throat. "She was strong and pious and regal… and fascinating. And I think she would be very proud of you."

Elizabeth smiled at his words, and this time her smile didn't fade.

* * *

"I like her not!"

King Henry's words echoed through the hallways of the palace.

"I like her not!"

Not even the dead could overhear his anger and displeasure. It made Anne shiver to hear him say these words with such ferocity that she could almost feel the sword cutting through her neck again. She had not come on her own account this time; she had been called by his anger and his current wife's despair. Now Anne found herself in the rooms of Whitehall again, four years after she had last visited them as a living person.

"I like her not!"

Anne flinched. It pierced her heart to think what he would do to his wife this time. Her namesake had no security; she had no devoted helper like Catherine of Aragon had in the Emperor, no infatuating love like herself, and no powerful scheming family like Jane Seymour. Now that she had failed to please the King, he would rid himself of her, and no one was there to stop him. Her fall would be utterly devastating.

"Makes you wonder why anyone agreed to marry him in the first place, huh?" A voice from behind startled her.

Anne turned around and gasped. "Mim the witch?"

"At your service. Came as soon as I noticed you were around again. Couldn't miss the chance of getting a good measure of girl's talk, could I?" Mim replied grinning.

Anne was inclined to smile as well, seeing that death had made her even more cynical about dark situations, but this moment was different. She wasn't her to watch her own plight. She was watching the downfall of an innocent woman.

"I pity her," Anne whispered. "She had no choice and no chance."

"If I agreed to the concept of pity, I might concur with you," Mim returned shrugging.

"She doesn't deserve the King's wrath; she has done nothing wrong. Neither Catherine nor Jane were as innocent as she is."

Mim shrugged again. "She is not the first to be discarded by your former husband, and if we are to trust Merlin's latest insight into the future, she won't be the last."

Anne flinched in shock. "How can this be? How can God allow this to happen?"

"That's because God has nothing to do with it. It's fate, pure fate, and she's a very sadistic mistress. Trust me; I've met her more than once."

"How can you be so calm in the face of shame and death? You once told me that you would protect my daughter – this new Queen was kind to Elizabeth, surely you know. I could see that she is very warmly disposed to her. She could have been the mother my poor daughter has so cruelly been denied – but now she will die, too. Can you allow this to happen?"

Mim scratched her head. She had never viewed it this way, barely caring to know the German Queen's name. But what if the dead Queen was right?

"You really think so, Your Majesty?"

"What?"

"That the current Queen is good for your daughter?"

Anne nodded. "I am certain of it. Anne of Cleves may not be me, but she is kind to my daughter. I know how much you have done for me and Elizabeth by putting her in the care of the Brandons. It took me a while to see it, but now I agree with your judgement. Still, the Duke is no substitute for motherly love," she said firmly. "Anne of Cleves could have given her that, if only Henry didn't abandon and destroy her."

"So you wish for her to survive?"

"Yes," Anne replied without hesitation.

A dark smile appeared on Mim's face. It had been centuries since someone had last uttered a wish in her presence, at least consciously. She could feel the power pulsing through her veins again as if the old days had returned.

"And you would want me to intervene on Anne of Cleves's behalf so that she can be a mother to your daughter?" Mim asked tentatively.

"Could you do that?"

Mim laughed. "I am a witch; there's little that I cannot do. But I must tell you this: Every wish comes at a price."

Anne hesitated. Being dead had made her oblivious to the feeling of being threatened since there was nothing left to lose, but Mim's voice carried a sense of threat. This was a dangerous game.

"Tell me your price," she demanded in a trembling voice.

"That's not the way it works. With respect, Your Majesty, you are dead; there's nothing you could give me. I have no interest in the world of the dead," Mim explained. "I want something from the living."

"How could I give you that?"

Mim winked. "In time you will. It is a reasonable price, I assure you. I'm no deceiver and do not mean to pull a fast one on you. All I ask is your _consent_."

For a brief second, Anne felt as if she was allowed to look into the future. It was a series of pictures painted in light colours, only the last of which remained as a memory to her: Elizabeth, clothed in purple velvet, a crown on her hair and a smile on her face. It was a goal worth taking risks for.

"If you save Anne of Cleves, I promise to consent to your price when the time comes," Anne said solemnly.

Mim curtseyed. "Glad to see you are the kind of woman I though you to be, Your Majesty. I shall be looking forward to the day. But… if you'll now excuse me, I have a Queen to save."

"You may withdraw," Anne replied in a matter most befitting a queen, even a dead one. Then she dissolved into darkness again, knowing that her part in this sad affair was played.

* * *

Archimedes had watched centuries of English history fly by, but never had he witnessed a time as turbulent as the reign of Henry VIII. It had taken him some time to realise that this was the most chaotic period he had ever had the joy to watch since many other years had been quite awkward as well. But not like this. Not for so long, not with so much irony. Wife number four! He couldn't hide an owlish grin. The King was really going to rid himself of his fourth wife. Had someone told him about this a century ago, he would not have believed it.

"_Lucky you didn't count on this King to be your bringer of the Golden Age. He could rather be winner of the "Golden Axe" for wife-murdering," Archimedes had told his friend Merlin earlier that day, earning only a contemptuous snuffle. _

As a punishment for his wicked cynicism, the wizard had forced him to go to Hampton Court and witness the Queen's downfall himself. Archimedes didn't exactly consider it a punishment, but he had known better than to tell Merlin. So he would stay here and watch as the King of England once again imprisoned his wife and told her that she would lose her head. He had seen worse.

A man entered the Queen's chambers. Archimedes pressed his face against the window to get a better view, but he soon withdrew when he realised that this sudden guest was the Earl of Hertford.

"Ugh," he found himself forced to say.

His entire owlish nature felled abhorred by this man who seemingly possessed neither a conscience nor a heart. He was a master schemer, some said, but Archimedes thought that he had merely been lucky when his sister had birthed a son for the King. Had she failed the King, she would have fallen like all the others, and her cold fish of a brother with her, no matter how cunning he was. In Archimedes's opinion, men like him were the cause for the constant problems of England. Schemers. Egoistic intriguers. Buggers.

"Madam, it is my duty to inform you that Parliament, the convocations at Canterbury and York, have found your marriage to the King to be invalid," Hertford said.

Archimedes began to clap his wings angrily at the windows. How could he say such terrible news without even a spark of compassion? Would he now tell her that she was about to die, as Merlin feared? Would he say it with the same emotionless voice?

"On the grounds of your precontract with Lorraine, His Majesty's lack of consent to the marriage, and its non-consummation," Hertford continued. "The marriage is thus declared null and void."

_Oh you scumbag, she must have gotten that when you first said "invalid", there's no need to rub it into her face some more! _Archimedes yelled inside his head. _What are you, a sadistic bastard? I swear, if I must continue to listen to your heartless babble, I'll smash the window and peck out your eyes!_

"Henceforth it is the King's pleasure that you call yourself _his sister_," Hertford announced. "Do you consent?"

Archimedes's anger suddenly stopped. What? The King's sister? But Merlin had said that she was about to die for displeasing the King, or sent away to a nunnery at best! Being the King's sister was something entirely different. It meant that she was lucky. True, her shocked face gave it away that she did not see the merits of it now, but she would quickly realise that she had gotten off lighter than any of her predecessors. She would live, she would be free, and she would still be able to reap the fruits of royal favour if she played the role of the King's meek sister.

Anne of Cleves nodded, barely visible.

"In which case I can tell you that the King has settled upon you a handsome annuity of 4000 pounds per annum as well as Hever Castle, so long as you remain in England," Hertford continued without any change of face. "Since His Majesty confirms that you are still a maid, you are free to marry whom you choose."

Archimedes gasped. That was even better! How lucky can a woman in her situation be? No. No. _Waiiiiit_, he thought. _This isn't fate's handwriting; she has never let anyone off lightly. Someone else must have intervened. Is there another player on the field? I have to tell Merlin!_

"Pleaz tell ze King zat I hope I will zometimes have ze pleasure of his mozt noble presenz und beseetch ze Almighty to send him long life und goot health," he heard Anne of Cleves say.

_Now THAT will please the King. Good girl, you've done everything right. Now pack your things and run to Hever before he changes his mind! Go! And I should go as well before someone sees me. And I had better tell Merlin about this – he will be quite surprised._

* * *

Henry Brandon and his cousin Elizabeth were both staring at the letter with disbelief. He had read it straight after opening it, then she had skimmed through it, then he had read it again, but it still made sense to neither of them. What was the meaning of this? They looked at each other in utter confusion.

"I told you he changes his mind frequently," Elizabeth suddenly said very bluntly.

"It… it is not a change of mind. It is politics."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "How can you say that? One day he commands you to marry this German princess, the next he calls it all off and annuls his marriage to the Lady Anne. Why must he do that? I like her. She would have been a good queen."

"As much as I'm inclined to agree with you, Beth, it is not for us to make these decisions. If there really was a precontract between her and the Duke of Lorraine's son, then her marriage to the King was invalid. It is all right and proper."

"Maybe," the young bastardised princess said quietly, "but I'd rather not have another stepmother."

Henry patted her head and put an arm around her. "Don't fret about it, cousin. I am sure your father will find the perfect Queen now. Not even God could be so cruel to him after all the troubles of these past years."

Elizabeth grimaced. "If you say so. But what about you?"

"Well, what about me?" Henry returned surprised.

"Who will you marry now? Has the King commanded anything yet?"

Henry shook his head. "No. I think he may abstain from foreign marriages from now on, so he will probably want me to marry an Englishwoman. If the rumours are true, he may soon marry again, and perhaps he'll want me to marry into the new Queen's family as well. But alas, I have nothing definitive about the matter."

"That's a pity," the young girl said grinning. "I would have been your flower girl."

Henry smiled. "Ah, but you can still be my flower girl, dearest cousin. Who else but you? God will surely send me a wife in time. And when I have a daughter, I will name her for you."

"No," Elizabeth returned firmly.

"No? Why?" He asked frowning.

She looked at him with such determination that it made him shiver. "I want to be the only Beth for you."

"If it pleases you." Henry smiled and embraced her. "You will always be special to me, Beth, no matter what the future holds. I don't need another Elizabeth in my life. But say you'll be my daughter's godmother, then. Teach her what it means to be a perfect Tudor rose."

Her eyes shining like little diamonds, Elizabeth nodded. "That I can do."

Henry offered her his hand. "Then it is settled. We have an agreement."

"We do, my Lord," Elizabeth returned very solemnly. "But your daughter had better be a clever lass since I'm not very patient."

The young Lord was forced to laugh. Wiping away a tear he nodded. "Oh, clearly you aren't patient; that much I know. I will make sure to get myself a clever daughter so that she will be to your liking."

Elizabeth nodded almost regally. "Thank you, Lord Lincoln."

* * *

**AN: Thanks for the reviews and hello to new reviewer Nicole Cann! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter despite its shortness. It's just a few snippets of Elizabeth's life and those important to her, but I liked the fact that we get to see more interaction between her and Henry now. Next chapter will introduce Kitty Howard and the bastard princess's thoughts about the fate of wife number five. **

**Please review and stay tuned!**


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